LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

^^lIelf....Cg7 



UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



MY BOOK. 



BY 



AUGUSTA CHAMBERS. 







I.\ ^^oif) /^ 



BUFFALO : 
PUBLISHED BY THE AUTHOR. 



r 



T6 /;iy^ 



Entered according to act of Congress, in the year iSSo, 

By AUGUSTA CHAMBERS, 

In the ofTice of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. C, 



The Couriek Company, 

EUctrotypcrs^ Printers atid Binders^ 
Buffalo, N. Y. 



¥o f)kr|V ^ik^tef. 




DAN." 



CONTENTS. 



Page. 

My Book, ii 

A Dream of the Tropics, 13 

A Love Letter, 15 

The Little Lonely One, 18 

Woman, 19 

After the Race the Crown, 20 

By the Atlantic, ' 22 

-' — ■ Love and Grammar, 23 

Good-By, Green Hills, 24 

That Day, 25 

Philip's Book 26 

Wakefulness, 27 

(L- — -^Modern Frou Frou, 29 

Uncertainty, 31 

The Last Letter, 32 

If I Could Die and Know, 36 

Under a Palm Tree, 37 

September, 39 

The Unfinished Story, 41 

When Day is Done 43 

En Voyage, 45 

Among the Hills, 46 

After the Walk, 48 

Kiss Me 50 

My Chosen Love, 51 

Un Triste Cceur 52 

Perhaps, 53 

Not Till Then 55 



8 CONTENTS. 

Page. 

Better, 56 

Our Sunset on the Hill, 57 

A Little Confession, 59 

Eyes, 61 

Adieu, 62 

Long After, 63 

Joaquin — Poet of the Sierras, 66 

An October Night, 67 

Tell Him, 69 

Think Not Tho' I Have Ceased to Weep, ... 70 

Life's Evening 72 

Come Back, 73 

While Westw^ard Wandering 74 

Consummation, 76 

Questioning, 78 

Baby Margaret, 80 

The Bard's Gude Wife, 82 

Leave Me, 85 

After the Play, 86 

Motes in the Sunshine, 87 

Marsh Murmurs, 89 

The Dead City, 91 

The Blight is at the Core, 93 

Winter-Weary 95 

Love's Midnight, 98 

Beyond the Bay, loi 

Afterward, 103 

No Name, 105 

" Chicago ;" or. Killed in the Mine 106 

-^ ^ WaVEWARD Ill 

Waiting, 113 

Caleb Plummer, 114 



MY BOOK. 



MY BOOK. 



I'VE had a dream, a pleasant dream, 
Though some might hold it light — 
A dream set 'round with happy hopes, 

Ambitious thoughts and bright ; 
A dream for which I still must bless 
The kind, consenting night. 

I told it to a rose this morn, 

Till every leaf astir 
Seemed nodding back approval of 

The secret whispered her ; 
Oh, rose, I kissed thy crimson lips 

That thou didst not demur. 

I told it to a brooklet next, 
The sun looked in the brook. 

The brooklet smiled, and then my dream 
This sudden meaning took; 

My heart it held for title page 
And lettered it " My Book." 



12 MY BOOK. 

" My Book," to eyes that love me most, 

Its treasures shall unfold ; 
Its covers — still, imagined ones 

Of bonny blue and gold — 
Fond hands, familiar with my own, 

Delightedly shall hold. 

And I have clothed each child of thought 

In flowerful, bright array. 
The gayer hues for contrast with 

The somber and the gray. 
And sorrow shall not linger long 

Where joy can have its sway. 

From every clime, from every land. 
Where'er my feet have strayed, 

I '11 pluck a fancy and a rhyme 
To weave in sun and shade, 

And they shall be transplanted where 
They cannot die or fade. 

And if at last it be my fate 

To rest in some green nook, 
Where only whispering grasses wave 

And quiet stars may look, 
Oh ! still my proudest monument 

Will be my " bonny book." 



A DREAM OF THE TROPICS. 13 



A DREAM OF THE TROPICS. 

'' I ^HE twilight's last kiss, darling one, 

Lies soft on the brow of the day, 
And the great, golden crown of the sun 

Is tipped with a star set in gray. 
The sea-gull, in querulous tone. 

Is chiding the fast-coming night. 
While I, with my thoughts, sit alone, 

And dream in the shadowy light. 

The bending banana bows low. 

By the salt breezes blown and caressed, 
Like a maiden asmile and aglow. 

Who droops on her lover's broad breast. 
I would that the waves were as words, 

With language akin to our own. 
Or that /, like those white-winged birds. 

Might mount and far seaward be blown. 



14 MY BOOK. 

There's an island far out in the deep, 
And palms fringe its tropical shore, 

My dreams lead me there in my sleep, 
To meet my beloved once more. 

The forms of the dark natives fall- 
Clad only by nature and God — 

Like shadows, where cocoanuts tall, 
To fern and to fig faintly nod. 

The air is a wordless caress. 

Like looks on the lips that we prize, 
When the sea of the soul's tenderness. 

Soft-surging sweeps into the eyes. 
'Tis an "island of beauty untold," 

Of fruitful and fragrant delights, 
Where the Day-god gilds morn with his gold, 

And Cynthia silvers the nights. 

An Eden engirts me I know. 

And yet, like the scriptural Eve, 
I 'm tempted — the apple hangs low — 

I look o'er the waters and grieve. 
Yes, e'en from this paradise here — 

Eternal in summer's soft smile — 
I turn — for my Heaven is there, 

Far off in that Fijian isle. 



A LOVE LETTER. 15 



A LOVE LETTER. 

T T cannot be that time can change 

The heart's affections deep, 
Or lull the thoughts of other days 

Like weary babes to sleep ; 
For time and change have o'er me crept, 

With wint'ry blight and chill, 
Yet, as in days to come no more, 

I 'm thinking of thee still. 



Last night the olden nights came back, 

When wed to joy again, 
Your arms a captive of me made 

That did not mind the chain. 
The curls I loved to call my own 

Are tinged no more with gold ; 
That form so slight and boyish once, 

Is manlier in its mould. 



l6 MY BOOK. 

The lips that once with smiles ran o'er 

Are sweetly serious now, 
While care and time hath given thee 

A thoughtfulness of brow ; 
But, oh ! thy love is still the same, 

As when it first was won. 
Still shining through my lonely life 

Like light from Heaven's sun. 

While those who vowed they loved me once 

More distant grow and chill. 
And all forsake me in my woe, 

I find thee faithful still. 
Then let the world, in cruel scorn. 

Its voice against me raise. 
Safe sheltered in my darling's love 

I '11 feel a wordless praise. 

And though of Misery's bitter draught 

I 'm fated, love, to sip. 
Oh, I '11 forget the nauseous cup 

Upon thy sweeter lip. 
You will not prove that summer friend 

That goes with summer's light, 
Like swallows, for some warmer clime, 

That plume their wings for flight. 



A LOVE LETTER. I'] 

You love me most when cloudy grief 

Her drops of woe doth send 
To dim the laughter from mine eyes 

And make me need a friend. 
You love me not for happy smiles 

Or merry words and light ; 
You love me for the soul within, 

Th^se cover up from sight. 

'Tis sweet, on murky nights and drear, 

To see one star shine through 
The midnight darkness of the sky, 

And, eye-like, beam on you ; 
But sweeter still, when earthly eyes 

Have turned their lights away, 
It is to know the eyes we love 

Like beacon lights will stay. 

The love that 's born of joy is sweet, 

But when it lives through pain, 
Oh, we may search the wide world o'er 

Nor find such love again ; 
Oh, though I cannot offer now 

The heart's first flower and fair. 
Take thou the love that but for thee 

Had ripened to despair. 



l8 MY BOOK. 



THE LITTLE LONELY ONE. 

I KNOW three tiny faces framed 
In happy childish glee, 
And yet a fourth unsmiling one, 

Most piteous sweet to see. 
A wee and patient pale-face saint, 

All motherless and lone. 
With wistful, rainy April eyes. 
The little lonely one. 

Among her light-robed playmates, she, 

In robes of sorrow clad, 
A cloudy speck upon their joy 

Walks, prematurely sad. 
While they, beneath a mother's smile, 

Bask in love's noon-day sun. 
She sees the shadow of a grave, 

The little lonely one. 

Come nearer, little lonely one. 

Yet nearer while I speak. 
Till in a kiss I sanctify 

My soul upon thy cheek. 
O, pure young sorrow, yearning life, 

In grief and death begun ; 
God pity thee and lead thee home. 

Thou little lonely one. 



WOMAN. 19 



WOMAN. 

LIFE built up of sighs and tears, 
' Heart too fondly fashioned, 
Drinking sorrow half her years 

At love's fount impassioned. 
Life with sacrifice replete, 

Only blest in giving, 
Set with fancies strange and sweet. 
If to dream be living. 

Strong, yet weak enough to err; 

Stopping not to reckon 
On the fearful cost to her 

Should she heed love's beckon. 
Crushed in spirit, anguish-bowed, 

All but shame denied her, 
Praying only for a shroud 

And a grave to hide her. 

Loving, not with half a heart. 

But with all her being, 
Steering on Avithout a chart, 

Rocks nor breakers seeing. 
Mercy, pity, I adjure ! 

Bring not wreck upon her; 
Let the lights be on the shore — 

Signal lights of honor. 



20 MY BOOK. 



AFTER THE RACE THE CROWN. 

IT was examination day in town, 
And midst a score of pretty girls there stood 
The tutor stern, who had forgot to frown. 

While one sweet bud (that verged on woman- 
hood, 
With wealth of shining tresses braided brown. 

Forming a coronet about her head. 
And eyes long-lashed and pensively cast down) 
Began to read, and faltered as she read, 
A farewell essay to this title wed — 
" After the race the crown." 

And in her speech, that teemed with fond " good- 
by's," 

She urged them onward to the true, the good — 
Her girlhood's friends — beseeching them to rise 

In youth's pure strength to nobler womanhood. 
This girl, whose future still before her lies — 

A misty avenue she gazes down. 
With hope and purpose deepening in her eyes. 

Firm in the faith that virtue and renown 
Go hand in hand — O, youth, so little wise, 
See ye no pitfalls 'twixt yourself and prize — 

" After the race the crown " ? 



AFTER THE RACE THE CROWN. 21 

Ah, somewhere, down Hfe's track, yet unexplored, 
The deadly nightshade of temptation grows ; 

Through its false verdure shouldst thou be allured. 
In life's new morn ambition's race would close, 

For dark temptation knows a thousand shapes — 
A devil, robed in angel garments fair. 

It gives to sin each victim that it makes. 

And sin, grown weary, gives them to despair. 

O, then, be watchful, lest thy tears should drown, 
With vain regrets, the eyes, but seeing now 
Life at its best, and with expectant brow — 

" After the race the crown." 



22 MY BOOK. 



BY THE ATLANTIC. 

/'~\ UR isle to-night is crowned and dressed 
^^ In a halo of moonlight sweet. 
And the sea sobs over her sandy bars, 
And lifts white arms to the shy, far stars. 
Like a life that is incomplete. 

And night must go, and the day will break, 

And then, oh, soul of mine ! 
With lips aquiver and hearts that ache. 
Who will be saddest for sad love's sake. 

And parting which makes no sign ? 

As one who stands by a grave and hears, 

"Ashes to ashes, dust to dust," 
My heavy eyes, 'neath their weight of tears. 
See through a mist that never clears 

The face of the morrow thrust. 



LOVE AND GRAMMAR. 23 



LOVE AND GRAMMAR. 

THE happy sea and the sky to-day 
Laugh in each other's faces, 
The sun plays hide-and-seek with the spray 

And whirls her in weird embraces ; 
I 'm tired of study — I '11 go and play 
And leave my " possessive cases." 

I 'm fond of Grammar — there's something in 't ; 

I take to the " masculine gender," 
When they have. eyes of the sun aglint, 

Brown eyes that are brave and tender ; 
Yes, Grammar, both in and out of print. 

Is a study I 'd not surrender. 

It 's strange that I never remarked before, 
How dreams that my brain encumber 

All run to the pronouns "you " and "your," 
Till I waken out of my slumber 

Asmile in the happy sense secure 
That I know my " singular number." 

I never felt glad till now, at all, 

That Grammar held near relation 
To what society 's wont to call 

A proper education ; 
I '11 get to " conjunction " near the fall, 

If I master "conjugation." 



24 MY BOOK. 



GOOD-BY, GREEN HILLS. 

GOOD-BY, green hills, good-by ! 
Sun-crowned and daisy-dressed, 
Would with the summer I 
Might sleep upon thy breast. 

Good-by, green hills, good-by! 

Now towering reef on reef, 
Or bending lowly nigh 

To kiss away my grief. 

Good-by, green hills, good-by! 

Good-by to dead hopes, too- 
Their only shroud a sigh, 

Their parting breath adieu. 

Their grave a hallowed spot, 
Where, sole, sad mourner I 

Shall weep alone, forgot. 

Good-by, green hills, good-by ! 



THAT DAY. 25 



THAT DAY. 

I KEEP it in the distance yet, 
But like a cloud alway 
It comes to dim my brightest thoughts 

And tinge their gold with gray — 
A blot upon my noon-day sun, 
That dreaded, distant day. 

It may be that the birds will sing 

And all the hills be green, 
And flowers to wooing winds that day 

Their tender cheeks may lean, 
But Sorrow's saddest showers shall fall 

Upon my own, I ween. 

'Twill be a day when trivial faults, 

Forgotten — put from sight 
As silent as the buried dead 

Upon the hill to-night — 
Shall hold for me no bitterness, 

No thought of wrong or slight. 

'Twill be a day when love alone 

A longing ghost shall flit. 
With burden of unguessed regret 

At Memory's feet to sit. 
And borrow from the banished past 

Some thought to comfort it= 



26 MY BOOK. 



PHILIP'S BOOK. 

SO Philip's book is out, I 've gleaned. 
What should my wonder be ? 
Since Philip's face has always seemed 

A poem unto me. 
His was the lofty brow of thought, 

The soft and dreamy eyes 
That seemed their color to have caught 
. From Heaven's bluest skies. 

I 've conned with pleased and eager eye 

These gems of Philip's mind, 
And yet at each perusal I 

Some newer meanings find ; 
I trace in every graceful line 

The gentleness of heart 
That worships low at nature's shrine, 

Yet boweth not to art. 

Ah ! Philip's heart now proudly beats, 

"The rubicon is past," 
And shadowy doubt abash'd, retreats, 

His book is out at last ! 
And other books than this, I ken. 

Will add to history's page. 
E'en worthier books from Philip's pen 

Shall grace the comingr age. 



WAKEFULNESS. 2/ 



WAKEFULNESS. 

I CANNOT sleep this fair June night, 
I hear the crickets sing, 
Tlie tender moon is waning white, 

And kissing everything. 
Lean towards me thro' the starry space, 

O, love, beloved of mine ; 
Hold fast my hand, or touch my face, 
Or give my heart a sign. 

I thought that time, with healing touch, 

Would soothe our parting yet ; 
I did not think to grieve so much, 

So little to forget. 
In every dream I but renew 

What all the past endears, 
Then, false to hope, yet true to you, 

I wake to sudden tears. 

Seen dim thro' misty grief, there stands 

Betwixt the sun and me 
A shadowy day of clasping hands 

And voiceless misery. 



28 MY BOOK. 

And yet, that day I 'd not exchange, 

So steeped in utter woe, 
For all these vacant ones and strange 

That make the heart ache so. 

O, take thine exile back again— 

My only world as yet — 
Or set me, love, a task less vain 

Than striving to forget. 
The future's fairest flowers for me 

Life's border-bed might fill, 
And yet some memory of thee 

Would bloom amontj them still. 



MODERN FROU FROU. 29 



MODERN FROU FROU. 

YOU will know her by the rustic 
Of her robes upon the stair ; 
You will know her by the perfume 

That precedes her everywhere. 
Taper fingers, jewel-laden, 

Put the frescoed door ajar, 
Modern Frou Frou framed within it, 
Pictureth her own boudoir. 

Fashion's darling — petted, pampered, 

Dainty, tiny-featured face. 
Half a child and half a woman, 

Lovely, with a soulless grace ; 
There she stands, with fairy-slipper'd, 

Wanton, dance-aweary feet, 
Waiting for the head to greet her, 

Nodding in the firelight's heat. 

Now a trill of bird-like music — 

Latest waltze, " La Tyrolie" — 
Breaks the silence, wakes the dreamer, 

From a painful reverie ; 
And a scarlet cheek is buried 

In his beard's luxurious brown, 
While two April eyes ashining, 

Break the cloud — a husband's frown. 



30 MY BOOK, 

From the costly curtained cradle, 

Feebly wailing, may be heard 
Satin-cushioned, fashion's nestling, 

Calling for the mother bird. 
Such a frail and waxen blossom. 

Thriving not in love-light's sun; 
Feet that tripped the latest measure, 

Come not to the little one. 

Hireling arms must soothe to slumber 

Latest burden-dawning life ; 
Modern Frou Frou means not mother, 

Frou Frou meaneth less than wife. 
Just extravagance and folly. 

Rustling silk and glittering rings, 
Tenderest cords she cares to play on, 

Doting husband's purse's strings. 

When we gaze upon ancestral 

Pictures of the mothers fled — 
Mothers of departed statesmen, 

Mothers of our hero's dead — 
Is it strange that we should wonder 

When time turns the coming page — 
Page historic of our Nation — 

Will a " Frou Frou ' crown the age } 



UNCERTAIN T Y. 3 1 



UNCERTAINTY. 

AS morning deepens into noon, 
And noon to night again, 
Qespairing thoughts o'er happier ones 

Their mastery still attain. 
Till joy's chameleon colors take 
The duller hue of pain. 

I hold your promise to my heart 
And count your words by night, 

As misers count their hoarded gold. 
In secret — out of sight — 

With greed which neither gives nor lends 
The spendthrift of delight. 

I know not where the future leads; 

The past, I know, was brief. 
The present is a troubled time 

Of doubt and yet belief, 
Where I but rise from hope's repast 

To sit and sup with grief. 



32 MY BOOK. 



THE LAST LETTER. 

CAN it be, or do I dream 
That you seem 
Changed to me, 
Grown estranged ? 
Tell me ! for I cannot take 
Haifa heart, mine would break 
Wanting more. 
Somehow when your hand 

Touching mine, sudden moved, 
I began to understand 

I it was that loved ; 
And your eyes that of old 
Made the sun seem cold. 
Now no more 

Warm and thrill me as before. 
Though I bound you. 
With my arms clasp'd around you, 

As doth ivy cling, 
Cold and pulseless still I found you- 

Love had taken wing. 



THE LAST LETTER. 33 

Answer dearest, 

Has my dream faded out ? 
Be confessed — truth is best — 

Better far than doubt, 
If 'tis true, I and you 
With sweet love have done. 
Best you tell me with your lips 
That the race is done — 
Better far than I should see 
Love's eclipse. 

Though we part, though thou art 
Cold, indifferent grown, 
From my mem'ry and my heart 
Canst thou take 

All that hath been — all you gave me? 
Never, darling ! though love die 
'Twixt you and I, 
And its grave be mine alone. 
Should you will it. 
We will never 

On this side the shadowy river 
Never meet, us twain. 

On this side the long forever 
Never meet again. 

All I ask is — must I want it — 

Will you grant it ? 
3 



34 MY BOOK. 

Just your pictured face to keep 
Love's first hungry pang asleep, 

After parting. 
Just your pictured face to say 

(Tho' forever and for aye 
Love be done, now mine own), 

That you loved me yesterday. 

In the days, lonely days, 

Yet to be, 
When I gaze on thy face, 

Dearest face still to me, 
I will strive thro' my tears. 

Blinding tears, hot and wet. 

To forget 
Thou wer't false seemingly. 

I will strive but to think 

On its beauty, on its grace, 

Stately head and wondrous face- 
Deeply drink 
Of the light within thine eye — 

Light delusive, luring beam. 

Gazing on it, who would dream 
Love could die? 

If perchance. 

In some quiet hour 

Memory's power 
For a moment claim you ; 



THE LAST LETTER. 35 

Sliould my face come to sadden 
Or to blame you, 
Still think gently — 

Gently o'er our buried past ; 
Brief its joy as deep my sorrow, 
Darkening over each to-morrow. 

Love must go but life must last. 
Brooding night-fall creeping 'round me, 
Joins the shadow that surrounds me. 

So good night, sweet. 
Were you nearer I would fold you — 

Fondly hold you 
Heart to heart and face to face, 
In one tender, last embrace ; 

But 'tis better as it is. 
For with sight such yearning grows, 
Slumbers sweet those dear eyes close 

Till the lashes that I love 
Press and kiss my darling's cheek. 
Gently mayst thou sleep. 
And in dreams be blest — 

Softer dreams, more bright. 
Than my pillow seek, 

For the night 
Brings me darkness (shuts the light 
From my foolish eyes, tear-weak), 
But not rest ! 



36 MY BOOK. 



IF I COULD DIE AND KNOW. 

IF I could die and know 
My loved and gone before 
Would meet me at the gate, 

My spirit-journey o'er; 
If eyes that love me here 

Would, mourning, dim with woe, 
I 'd be content to die. 
If I could die and know. 

If I could die and know, 

In faith divinely bhest, 
Among God's chosen ones, 

I evermore might rest ; 
If grief could purify 

Through suffering tears that flow, 
I 'd be content to die. 

If I could die and know. 

If I could even know 

That underneath the sod 
I might forever sleep 

In peace, forgiv'n of God — 
Beneath the waving grass, 

With summer blooms aglow — 
I'd be content to die, 

If I could die and know. 



UNDERAPALMTREE. 37 



UNDER A PALM TREE. 

UNDER a palm tree, sitting listlessly, 
I watch, with folded hands and silent lips 
The distant bay which widens to the sea — 

The sea, flecked white with far-off sailing ships, 
And wonder if the self-same moon for thee 
Our own dear shore to-night with silver tips. 

Here in the land of citron and of palm — 
Here in the land of olive and of date, 

" Where every air is heavy with the balm 
Of orange groves " and summer-tide, I wait. 

Stirred still to sorrow, in this Eden's calm. 
For one who lingers yet without the gate. 

Under a palm tree Enoch Arden's wife 

Had once a vision when the day was done, 

When hope and fear were with despair at strife. 
She ope'd the holy book at set of sun — 

And lo ! this passage, with a meaning rife. 
Fell first before her where the page begun : 



38 MY BOOK. 

" Under a palm tree" were the words she read. 

And pausing ever o'er the mystic line, 
She prayed with fervent lips and bending head, 

That God his message clearly would define — 
Would give her sailor back alive or dead ; 

Then did he send this vision as a sign : 

Upon an island where the sultry sky 

Kissed into glistening heat the burning sand. 
Where one great palm reared all its arms on high, 

And holding o'er his eyes one screening hand, 
Beheld she Enoch, gazing silently, 

A shipwrecked sailor in a desert land. 

And watching ever for some distant sail. 
From dewy dawn to dreary dusk again ; 

So, love, watch I, with eyes for tears that fail. 
And loneliness which deepens into pain, 

For sight or sound of thee no favoring gale 
Bears to the wanderer o'er the moaning: main. 



SEPTEMBER. 39 



SEPTEMBER. 

SEPTEMBER, on the mountain tops, 
Is standing hushed and pale, 
And over Summer's eyes lets fall 

Her soft, mysterious vail ; 
A gray-clad nun she walketh now, 

Between the sun and shade. 
Or moves, a mourner loth to leave 

A grave but newly made. 
The tender leaves and grasses still 

The Summer's livery wear, 
Yet sadness seems to linger o'er 

The rounding of the year. 
For though the flowers still look up, 

With incense on their breath, 
We know their faces only wear 

The hectic flush of death ; 
And memories that the heart shuts in, 

Like pansies in a brook. 
Bear only subtle sense of loss. 

And dreams that hope forsook. 
I wonder how the seasons roll 

Within the heavenly sphere, 



40 MY BOOK. 

And if the angels ever weep 
O'er memories sweet, yet drear. 

I sometimes fancy half the gold 
That God's September fills, 

Has rifted somewhere through a cloud. 
And fallen on the hills. 



THE UNFINISHED STORY. 41 



THE UNFINISHED STORY. 

THE manuscript unfinished lies — 
Because each Hnc I trace 
Is interrupted by your eyes, 

O sweet, warm, Southern face. 
Our walks and talks, the things you said. 

Side-glance and lash's curl. 
Are dancing through my silly head, 
And keep it all awhirl. 

" I love, and I am happy, though," 

So sighed Camille's low tone, 
When Armand's form had passed from view, 

And she was left alone. 
Alas ! ill-fated, dead Camille, 

With what devotion true 
She clung to Armand, as I feel 

Till death I '11 cling to you. 

My life, like hers, it oft doth seem. 

Some dismal end will know, 
Though now 'tis such a fairy dream, 

With rapture all aglow. 



42 MY BOOK. 

O, heartful days, how fast ye fly, 
I know not one is gone. 

Until the night comes drifting by, 
To meet another dawn. 

Away ! away ! I 'm idHng yet. 

For still that face of thine 
To blind and dazzle me is set, 

Like sunbeams on each line. 
O, work unfinished, loth I 'd be 

My sweet excuse to tell. 
For who could sympathize with me. 

None having loved so well. 



WHEN DAY IS DONE. 43 



WHEN DAY IS DONE. 

WHEN day is done, 
And the drear night 

Wafts out the light, 
Then, dearest one. 

Think I of thee, 

Longing to be 
In thy embrace ; 

Heart near to heart, 

Never to part, 
Face close to face. 

What, without thee, 

Through the long years, 
Seen through my tears, 

Can my life be ? 
Plans that I rear, 
Castles in air. 

Fade incomplete; 
Life without thee 
Cannot but be 

Robbed of the sweet. 



44 MY BOOK, 

Sighing forlorn, 
Of thee bereft, 
What is there left ? 

Only to mourn ; 
As some poor bird. 

Broken in wing. 

Never to sing 

More will be heard ; 

So, love, must I 
From thee apart, 
Wounded at heart, 

Grieve till I die? 

When day is done. 
And clouds of night 
Waft out the light, 

Then, darling one, 
Ne'er can I be 
Happy with thee, 

In thy embrace; 
Heart near to heart, 
Never to part. 

Face close to face. 



EN VOYAGE. 45 



E N VOYAGE. 

BLOW over the waves to the north, O 
breeze 

As light as the heart in me — 
Over the waves and the sun-lit seas 
To a rose-twined cot in a bower of trees^ — 

And bear to my darlings wee 
The glad, sweet joy of my swift return, 
Till watchful, fanciful eyes discern 

A great ship sailing free ; 
Bearing me on to the other side, 
Bounding home with the bounding tide, 

Back to my darlings three. 

Be pitiful, Time ! Ah ! take the light 

Out of the long, long days. 
Shorten the moments, shorten the night 
Between the shore and my aching sight. 

My aching eyes agaze 
Over the billows night and morn, 
With hunger out of such longing born 

It cannot brook delays. 
O, haste thee, feet of the hurrying tide. 
Land me safe on the other side 

In the dawning's purple haze. 



46 MY BOOK. 



AMONG THE HILLS. 

UPON the steep it was my wont to call 
The Summer's lap, I linger ill at ease, 
With heavy tears for love of you let fall, 

While day slants goldenly among the trees. 
And Time hath passed us since wc last clasped 
hands 
With no look backward, solemn-eyed and dumb, 
While down the future's avenue there stands 
Only Despair, though Hope still whispers, 
" come." 

We shall yet find him where the shadows are, 

Or hillward wandering toward some heavenly 
height. 
Watching with far-off thought some falling star, 

Swooning at sight of him athwart the night ; 
For well he loves sweet nature's varying mood, 

The dewy day-dawn or eve's starry light. 
And every hill-born blossom, humble-hued. 

Holds still a precious meaning in his sight. 



AMONG T HE HILL S. 47 

And yet, ah ! love, so long I 've waited here, 

(For memory holds me, and I needs must stay, ) 
That flowers have sprung from ev'ry falling tear. 

And many a night hath purpled for the day. 
Perhaps among the everlasting hills. 

On some celestial morn we yet may meet. 
And I shall know thee by ecstatic thrills, 

And life in death become at last complete. 



48 MY BOOK. 



AFTER THE WALK, 



ALL day the dark and inky clouds have 
chased away the bhie ; 
The sky's been full of tears, my love, my heart's 

been full of you ; 
All day together, arm in arm, we 've walked 

through rain and mist, 
With feet that knew no weariness, and looks 
that met and kissed. 



So sweet to be together, love, what care for rain 

or shine. 
Since I am yours forever now and you are wholly 

mine ; 
For who shall soul from soul divide where love 

once sits enthroned, 
The souls that in each other live — each by the 

other owned ? 

Not earth, nor space, nor anything shall part us 

so in twain, 
But that we still in spirit, love, may commune 

hold acfain. 



AFTERTHEWALK. 49 

A bud, SO small I call it but the dawning of a 

hope, 
Upon my little rose-bush near is promising to ope. 

If in the morn I find the dew hath found my 

blossom out. 
And if the sun should rudely stare to make her 

blush and pout, 
I '11 pluck her from these lovers bold ere time can 

make her rue, 
And give her, like myself, away, my own true 

one, to you. 

Good-night ! for daylight's ashen face, displeasing, 

cold and white, 
Is peeping thro' the window-pane to chill me as 

I write ; 
Then let me sleep while nature wakes (with cheek 

to pillow pressed). 
And pray that some delicious dream may lead 

me to your breast. 

4 



50 MY BOOK. 



KISS ME. 

KISS me with the lips that never tire, 
Kiss me with heart and will ; 
Kiss me, love, with a kiss of fire 
Till my very soul stands still. 

Kiss me, love, in the dusk of eve, 

Kiss me at rise of sun ; 
O, eyes, not lips, to language leave — 

Kiss me, my darling one. 

Kiss me, love, when the days are cold. 
Warm me with smile and kiss, 

Till sheltered thus in thy heart's dear fold, 
I never the sun shall miss. 

Kiss me, love, for my soul is sad. 
And time heeds not my cry — 

And I see a day, in mourning clad. 
Of parting, which means — to die ! 



J 



Kiss me, my love, and hold me fast. 

Ere gold the morning tips ; 
' would have thy kiss the first and last 
Upon my grieving lips. 



MY CHOSEN LOVE. 51 



MY CHOSEN LOVE. 

HE is not one of polished mien, 
Or manners soft and fine ; 
But rich in manhood's honest strength, 

This chosen love of mine. 
His eyes — those windows of his soul — 

Are lustrous, large and blue, 
So clear that every passing thought 
Comes shining frankly through. 

No delicate, white hand is his. 

But labor-soiled and rough ; 
Yet still in love's dear pressure strong 

For me quite fair enough. 
His voice? Ah! 'tis the master-key 

That keeps my heart in tune. 
As needful as the dews that fall 

On thirsty flowers in June. 

His love? How shall I guess its depth, 

Unless I plumb my own ? 
He is my master, yet I'm queen, 

His heart my precious throne. 
Thus have I found thee, O my king ! 

My soul's ideal at length, 
A woman in thy tenderness, 

A giant in thy strength ! 



52 MY BOOK. 



UN TRISTE CCEUR. 



DREARY drips the ceaseless rain 
From the tear-o'erburdencd sky; 
Sobbing 'gainst the window-pane, 
Nature grieves, and so do I. 

Life is but a hollow show — 
Rest, a thing I cannot find ; 

So my tears the rain outflow, 

While my sighs blend with the wind. 

Could I sleep, most blest were I — 
Sleep that knows no waking more ; 

Oh ! with folded palms to lie 
In amen my bosom o'er. 



PERHAPS. 53 



PERHAPS. 

WHEN evening lights from happy homes 
are gleaming, 
And moonlight kisses all the willing sea, 
Peopled with longing and with hopeless dreaming. 

Thought's craft drifts northward ceaselessly. 
The Southern sunsets shed a sadder splendor 

Than those we watched together on the shore. 
And love, tear-christened, now grown doubly 

tender. 
Looks back with dimmer eyes than those of yore. 

" Whom first we love " — so saith my heart's own 
poet 

In gentle verse — " you know we seldom wed." 
He felt 'twas true, but I, ah ! love, I know it. 

Since fate and circumstance my feet have led 
To distant lands, where thou mayst wander never. 

Save in these waking dreams that bring thee 
near; 
My dear, dead past that I embrace forever. 

Chill and unanswering, yet so dear — so dear! 



54 MY BOOK. 

Yet ever when the noiseless night descending, 

Leans with her moon-clasped mantle o'er the 
sea, 
Some subtle essence, with my spirit blending. 

Seeks through the soundless universe for thee. 
Perhaps thy heart, in like impassioned longing, 

Seeks still through space and solitude for mine, 
But where we meet, our earthly natures wronging, 

We still must part, and passing make no sign. 



NOT TILL THEN. 55 



NOT TILL THEN. 

AFTER the tired face is hid 
Under the friendly coffin lid ; 
After the vexed and weary soul 
Passeth away from earth's control ; 
After the eyes have looked their last 
Into a future gloom o'ercast ; 
Seeing naught but a pauper's crust — 
Not till then will the world be just. 

After the battle of life is done, 
Ye shall be heroes, every one ; 
Shrouded away from mortal gaze. 
Ye shall be waked by mortal praise ; 
After death shall each deed of thine, 
Close beside thee an angel shine ; 
Freed from life's breath, and the tears that rust- 
Not till then will the world be just. 



$6 MY BOOK. 



BETTER. 



BETTER for me were his ship a wreck 
In the gulf of an angry sea, 
Than that he should live to come back and break 
His plighted faith with me. 



Better, far better, 'twould be to know 

That the blue waves wrapped him 'round — 

Where sea-nymphs wept as they laid him low. 
And only the waters sound. 

For tearful thought might yearning drift 
To the bay of the peaceful past, 

And I might catch thro' a cloudy rift 
A gleam of my heaven at last. 

But better far had we never met 

In lands that I dream of still, 
Before faith died, tho' the cross points yet 

To my mother's grave on the hill ! 



OURSUNSETON THE HILL. 57 



OUR SUNSET ON THE HILL. 

THE wind's low voice was silent, 
The whispering trees were still, 
When last we watched the sunset, love, 

Our sunset on the hill. 
You said its glow was shedding 

Its crimson on my cheek. 
And that my hair was tangled in 
Its last, great golden streak. 

Then, in some sudden impulse, 

You drew me to your heart. 
As if 'twere heaven to hold me so, 

As if 'twere death to part. 
Low sank the sun, and lower. 

And dark began to creep ; 
It stole the gold from out my hair, 

The crimson from my cheek. 

Yet there together standing. 

With hand now clasped in hand. 

We watched the solemn night descend 
O'er all the quiet land. 



58 MY BOOK. 

I called your eyes the starlight, 
Because the sun had flown — 

(How selfish to be wanting, dear, 
A starlight all my own.) 

And then, like happy children, 

Still clasping hands we went, 
With love's too slow, unwilling steps, 

Adown the hill's descent. 
O, life's one golden evening ! 

I live to bless it still, 
When last we saw the sunset, love, 

Our sunset on the hill. 



A LITTLE CONFESSION. 59 



A LITTLE CONFESSION. 

THE roses in my garden 
Are like my lover's cheek ; 
I kiss their pale pink leaves and think 

Of things I may not speak. 
My violet's dewy fragrance 

Is like his balmy breath, 
And joy is with his kisses born, 

That meets too quick a death. 
O, love beyond possession, 

Beyond love's reach that grows. 
How shall I teach my heart again 

Its latent calm repose ? 

Sweet thoughts, his vision framing, 
Like waves on ocean's shore, 

Still on and on o'er dreamland's strand 
Break rippling evermore. 

Last evening when the sunset 
Flamed red against the west. 



6o MY BOOK. 

My eyes explorers turned and found 
New depths in his unguessed. 

And when, with arm about me, 
He glanced from face to form, 

It must have been the sunset's glow 
That made my cheek so warm. 

It must have been the sunset 

That made his lips so red — 
A deeper and a sweeter dye 

Than leaves my roses shed. 
O, love, I must not love you, 

Change, like a chilly day 
That, shining in the morning, turns 

Ere nightfall cold and gray. 
Break, if you can, the fetters 

That bind your willing slave. 
And give again the freedom back 

She docs, yet does not, crave. 



EYES. 6l 



EYES. 

EYES whose glances warm and deep 
Fall aslant as sunbeams might, 
Till the lashes o'er them sweep, 

Blending shadows with their light ; 
Eyes that ever seem to say, 

"All my power I know full well," 
Turn, O, turn from mine away — 
Free, O, free me from your spell ! 

Why, O, why those glances long, 

Under arching brows that steal. 
Telling more than word of tongue, 

Reading all I'd not reveal? 
Speaking eyes, why haunt me yet. 

Since another's life ye light ? 
Free me from this vague regret. 

Leave me to my starless night. 



62 MY BOOK. 



ADIEU. 

FAREWELL, mon coeur, farewell ! 
When shall we meet again ? 
Ah ! which of us may ken ? 
1 know not ; but, till then, 
My thoughts with thee shall dwell. 

Good-by, mon ange, good-by ! 

Ah ! word in mourning dressed. 

Poor orphan — pity's guest — 

Forevermore unblessed, 
Thy heritage — a sigh ! 

Je taime, ungardez vous. 

Though fate and grief clasp hands, 
And point to other lands, 
Love dumbly, sadly stands 

With eyes still turned to you. 



LONG AFTER. 63 



LONG AFTER. 

A PERFUMED paper's purple tint 
Whereupon your hand I trace, 
Hath found me in the morning's glint 

And brought us face to face ; 
Again your deep and quiet eyes, 

'Neath lashes shaded brown, 
And filled with meeting's dear surprise, 
In mine glance gladly down. 

For lack of power, whilst language faints 

O'er words the heart essays, 
And Time at Memory's easel paints 

The unforgotten days. 
Again your kiss upon my lips. 

Holds will a willing thrall. 
While brighter gold the morning tips, 

And joy is over all. 

Since last we met, of years a score 

Have passed — those voiceless things 
That mark Time's flight — and yet they bore 

No healing on their wings; 
But when amidst the hurrying throng 

I 've sought, yet found thee not, 
Hope leaned on Faith, for Faith was strong, 

And said, " Thou 'rt not forgot." 



64 MY BOOK. 

And so I knew ere I should sleep, 

Past pain and misery free, 
That Faith would true her promise keep, 

And give you back to me. 
Though many a flower-crowned month now flown 

Hath bloomed and waned between 
The morn that saw us part, mine own, 

O ! morn through tears still seen. 

Yet, every June, my heart, my heart, 

To blossom bursts anew 
With memories sweet that bud and start 

And whisper, dear, of you. 
Ah! buried June that winter's snow 

So oft hath shrouded white. 
Though other summers come and go 

And other moons at night, 

Yet none for me like that I 'vc lost 

Shall in life's season shine, 
For costliest love at love's dear cost, 

And you and June were mine. 
Since last your hand in tenderness 

And blessing warm clasped this. 
And " palm to palm," as Juliet says, 

Proved " holy palmer's kiss " — 



LONG AFTER. 65 

For you, " tjood pilgrim," did not " wrong 

Your lips," when last we met, 
But with a hand-clasp fond and long 

Looked all your soul's regret — 
A checkered path my feet have trod, 

With trials fenced about. 
And some that made my trust in God 

Turn almost into doubt. 

The world, poor cynic at the best, 

Fate ne'er decreed my friend, 
My life with longings cursed and blest, 

Achieving nought will end. 
I see you smiling now and then 

O'er lines that meet your view, 
But foolish things will slip my pen 

Just as they used to do. 

I never was so overwise. 

Yet I am certain quite 
That, looking through love's partial eyes, 

You '11 read my meanings right. 
Yon perfumed page atint and bright 

With heartsease purple-blue 
Upon my heart shall lie to-night. 

And life's lost dream renew. 



66 MY BOOK. 



JOAQUIN— POET OF THE SIERRAS. 

NAME the title to songs unsung, 
Man of the musical, rhythmical name — 
Tender of heart and bitter of tongue — 

Careless of praise and careless of blame ; 
Sorrowful singer ! Oh, soul borne high ! 

Counting earth's dross so little worth ; 
Finding " more gold in the stars of the sky 
Than all that hides in the grimy earth." 

Wanderer! Wonder! New found world ! 

Warrior, wearing a poet's wing, 
Dreamer of dreams, like wings unfurled, 

That waft thee whither the seraphs sing ; 
Oh, to be even the high, white rain, 

The heaven-born rain you love and praise, 
To fall at your feet in my perfect pain. 

Or weep in the wake of your lonely days. 

Gather me up, as the sun the dew, 

On wet-cheeked leaves in the long, late dawn. 
Till I mix and mingle and blend with you. 

And every trace of myself is gone. 
This were something to live and know — 

This were something to know and die ; 
Then find out heav'n and change and glow — 

A far, fair star in your poet sky. 



AN OCTOBER NIGHT. 6/ 



AN OCTOBER NIGHT. 

OCTOBER'S sad, repentant tears, 
Outside are slowly falling, 
And sudden winds to frowning hills 
And fickle mists are calling. 

No stars to-night, no summer moon 

Nods like a silver feather, 
Or sinks behind the hills too soon, 

Yet leaves us still together. 

I conjure up the tender past — 
Sweet siege of eyes beseeching — 

And grim experience evermore, 
This truth my heart is teaching: 

"Thou canst not bid time bide for thee, 
Or hope, on love's endeavor, 

Wait patient while the golden day 
Of chance slips by forever." 



68 MY BOOK. 

" Oh, sweeter self," if thou wert here 
With one strong arm around me, 

Stern duty yet might blush to tell 
How much im-armed you found me. 

And if beneath their sleepy fringe, 
Your eyes, " night's darkest edges," 

Should, looking into mine, renew 
Their fond expressive pledges, 

I think my lips would lean to yours, 
And all my lone life misses 

I 'd find, albeit to lose again, 

In longed-for, dreamed-of kisses. 



TELL HIM. 69 



TELL HIM. 

OVIOL ET, tell my love the Spring is near, 
And all my heart with her approach keeps 
pace, 
She dropped thee from her garland with a tear 

Of dewy grief upon thy tender face. 
So thou shalt be my messenger, and bear 

Love's longing to the lordliest of his race. 
O, tell him, if he listens, he shall hear 

The sigh my spirit sends through time and space 
Across the " waste of waters," lingering where 
His envied presence glorifies the place. 

O, sea breeze, tell my love the sea is wide — 

But never — never than my love more deep— 
Nor would I for the pearls with her that bide, 

Give back his precious promise which I keep. 
O, tell him how I pray for August-tide, 

And beck'ning to him, murmur in my sleep 
Soft welcomes to my darling — dream espied, 

With eyes grown hopeful, that forget to weep. 
Till folded to his heart — the true, the tried — 

I in a moment joy's full harvest reap. 



70 MY BOOK. 



"THINK NOT, THO' I HAVE CEASED 
TO WEEP." 

THINK not, tho' I have ceased to weep, 
That I remember not ; 
Or that my bitter wrongs will sleep — 

Thy falsehood be forgot. 
O ! let the years bring what they may, 

I reck not, care not more ; 
I am not what I was to-day, 
For hope itself is o'er. 

You came with dreams to fill my heart 

Of all that still might be. 
Until of life itself a part. 

Thy love became to me. 
Within thy sheltering arms secure 

I smiled at sorrows past, 
And deemed affection would endure, 

And death but part us last. 

Poor fool ! in my belief how blind — 

Won over by a sigh. 
Or words more hollow than the wind 

That idly passes by. 



"THINK NOT. ' 71 

I might have known the world's deceit 

Too well again to trust, 
Or worship at an idol's feet 

So often turned to dust. 

But there was something in thy smile — 

A candor in thy look, 
That made thy heart seem all the while 

To me an open book. 
And though thy speech was poor and plain. 

Thine eyes a language knew 
That said to me, when words were vain, 

"Ah, trust me — I am true." 

No more, no more. I vainly seek 

In memory's yesterday 
Some thought to cool the burning cheek — 

The heart's dull pain to stay. 
All 's over now — all joy and pride. 

Ambition, hope, are o'er ; 
I wander, parted from thy side, 

Alone forevermore. 



72 MY BOOK. 



LIFE'S EVENING. 

LIFE'S evening — ah ! 'tis here with me at last, 
Not as I deemed in girlhood it would come, 
To find me — youth's brief morning being past — 

Safe in the fold of some fond, happy home ; 
For subtle shadows steal my day's last gleam. 
And touch with dusky fingers life's lone eve, 
While spectral fancies, born of sadness, teem 
To sit all night at Memory's loom and weave. 

And yet, it is not sadness fills my breast. 

So much is past 'twere best had never been. 
For in iny desert, each oasis blest, 

Proved but a mirage that my eyes had seen ; 
I 've had my day of love, of " Knight and Lance," 

Of grand ambition and of high resolve — 
These things that make up half of life's romance, 

'Round which the years, the tireless years, 
revolve. 

I count some silver in my hair's dim gold ; 

The roses, too, with life's lost June are gone ; 
It seems so very sorrowful, this growing old, 

To wake and find it night instead of dawn ! 
I've missed so much, then is it greed to grudge 

Old Time, the usurer, all the days he 's ta'cn ? 
Yet could I live them over — who shall judge? 

I might for joy still pay the interest — pain ! 



COME BACK. 73 



COME BACK. 

SINCE thou art gone the sun hath ceased its 
shining, 
The silent days, love, creep too slowly by, 
And all my heart is filled with vague repining, 
Which breaks thro' tears and many a hungry 
sigh. 
Joy fled with thee, the day that saw us part, 
And left despair sole tenant of my heart. 

Thy kisses still upon my lips are burning. 
Thy looks of love are mirrored in my soul ; 

Nor doth my strife avail to soothe the yearning 
Whose passion mocks at reason and control. 

Vain task ! to quell the grief that will not sleep. 

Thou being gone, how can I choose but weep ? 

Come back again ! mine eyes in tender longing 
Turn toward the land by thy possession blest ; 

While hopes dream-born delusively are thronging 
With sweet expectancy my aching breast. 

Come back again, heart of my choice. 

And break the silence waiting for thy voice. 



74 MY BOOK. 



WHILE WESTWARD WANDERING. 



SUMMER is glad on the land again — 
With hint of flower and bee, 
And glad with summer I speed amain 

To the joy that is waiting me ; 
Rivers to ford now, and steeps to scale — 

Mountainous passes with gloom between. 
But the driver's laugh and his merry hail 

Echo thro' hollow and deep ravine. 
On, on, past river and ranche we're whirled 
Where never the smoke of a cabin curl'd — 
On, on, to that " outermost edge of the world" 

Where its rounding rim is seen. 

Where the ends of the mighty plains begin — 

Like a scroll in Jehovah's hand — 
To curve and curl into hillocks green ; 

On, on, to the longed-for land. 
Where the beautiful, brave, brown-bearded men. 

Those gods of the golden hills — 



WHILE WESTWARD WANDERING. 75 

("And each, please God, is a gentleman," 

However he toils, or tills) — 
Swing swarthy arms with the pick on high — 
And the long, white day like a bride goes by, 
Till the hills leap up to the leaning sky — 

And fade as the sunset wills. 

Yes, on I press toward the happy hills. 

To bide with the " tried and true," 
Till envious Time his sand-glass spills 

And another year slips through ; 
But if it should be the good God's will 

To close the book I hold — 
With th^leaf turned down in the middle still 

Before the tale is told — 
I 'd like to be laid on the hill's broad breast 
That seemeth to keep its vigil best 
Over my people there of the West — 

Over their hearts of gold ! 



76 MY BOOK. 



CONSUMMATION. 

THERE is a hint of summer in the air, 
A touch of blue on skies of dappled gray, 
And nature's broad rejoicing everywhere, 

Hath woo'd me from my solitude to-day ; 
With buoyant step I climb the giddy hill, 

And gaze with longing toward the eastern 
slope 
With fond imagining, and eyes that still 
Look forward with the tender light of hope. 

The trees are budding into green again, 

And mating birds begin to build the nest ; 
My bird is coming over hill and plain — 

I hear his pinions fluttering toward the west, 
(It may be, ere his coming, you will sing 

Above your brood, oh, happy mother-bird, 
But here I'll wait him since he's on the wing. 

Wrapped in the rapture of a bliss deferred. . 

Not all your tender twitterings o'er your young 
In leafy branches on yon swaying tree. 

Shall rival words of love upon my tongue. 
When time gives back my darling unto me.) 



CONSUMMATION. J-J 

Not all the forest knows so sweet a voice 
As the lost music that shall greet me soon — 

The missing note — the grand, harmonious choice 
That sets my summer to eternal tune. 

Oh, sweet expectancy ; oh, night, that makes 

The day the brighter for the shadows past, 
Forever more be blest of hope that wakes 

To dear realities from dreams at last ! 
Oh, shining day, that now to dusk hath paled. 

Seal up my happy eyes — with sleep relieve — 
Ye were but signals and my ship is hailed, 

I sight the sails, and joy must know reprieve ! 



78 MY BOOK. 



QUESTIONING. 

WHY are lips that lean no more 
To us when wc list, 
Just the sweetest of the store 

Ours have ever kissed — 
Tho' of lovers half a score, 
Ours could not resist ? 

Why are eyes that glance away — 

Eyes we long to meet — 
Just the sweetest any day, 

Tho' they thus defeat 
Love at hide-and-seek at play, 

Naughty eyes and sweet ? 

Why, if thro' an orchard green, 
Wandering, one should spy. 

Ripening in the sun serene, 
Red-cheeked apples nigh — 

Must the farthest apple-queen 
Catch the longing eye ? 



QUESTIONING. 79 

All our pronencss thus to grieve 

For the fruit that grows 
Just beyond us, I believe, 

Woman's nature owes 
To the fact that Mother Eve 

Picked the fruit she chose ! 

Thus it is in everywise, 

Thro' this life untrue ; 
If you long for hazel eyes 

You must do with blue, 
And the author of your sighs 

Wastes no breath on you ! 



8o MY BOOK. 



BABY MARGARET. 

BABY Margaret has eyes 
Wondrous big and blue, 
Peering up in odd surprise 
Sunny lashes through. 

Baby Margaret hath skin 

White as winter's snow, 
Cheeks with dimples dented in 

Where the blossoms grow. 

Baby Margaret hath rare 

(Like to waving wheat) 
Yellow-tinted, curling hair. 

Living sunshine sweet. 

Baby Margaret's shoulders white 

Are such lovely things. 
That we tremble lest we might 

Soon discover wings ! 

Baby Margaret, trusting one. 

Hath such clinging arms, 
When her smiles have sudden grown 

Into wee alarms. 



BABY MARGARET. 8l 

Tiny Margaret, baby-queen — 

In her subjects" eyes, 
Reigns right royally, I ween, 

Where her kingdom lies. 

Baby-queen, with smile or pout 

Ruling all she can ; 
Coming woman, who can doubt, 

Greater than the man ! 
6 



82 MY BOOK. 



THE BARD'S GUDE WIFE. 

FROM "the man o' AIRLIE." 

" T 'LL place it here, my Jamie's seat, 

-^ Beside the window-sill, 
That he may hae what he ca's sweet — 

A glint o' heather hill — 
To flavor, as he says, his meal, 

And yet I ken it noo 
My Jamie likes, the thriftless chiel, 

A bonny, soft seat, too ; 
And that 's na' so poetical 

As glint o' heather hill ! 
I mun'na let the dinner spoil 

Nor let the haggis spill ; 
There 's not a simmer on it yet. 

My Jamie likes it sae ; 
A sprinkle mair o' salt I '11 get 

And then the cloth I '11 lay. 
Oh, what if o'er it chanced to boil 

When I was not aboot, 
What would I dee, for it would spoil, 

And smoke and burn, nae doot ? 



THE bard's GUDE WIFE. 83 

And that would be by far mair sad 

Than spoiHng song or rhyme, 
Which I 've nae doot pair Jamie, lad. 

Hath din a mony a time ! 
When Saunders brings the cabbage in 

I '11 put it on wi' haste, 
And then I '11 hae but time, I ween, 

To make the dumpling paste. 
Eh, dearie ! I 've a lot o' cares. 

Of troubles big and wee ; 
I 'd like to fare as Jamie fares — 

Have nothing else to dee 
But cover bonny paper white 

Wi' rants and rhymes sae bra'. 
And on a cloud, both morn and night, 

In fancy flee awa' ; 
Yet when the bairn upon my breast 

Smiles a' my kisses at, 
I find that I like nursing. best, 

I could no' gie up that ! 
Lie still, ye wee, ye winsome bairn. 

An' dinna wake until 
Your dreaming daddy kimmeth hame 

Across yon heather hill. 
Sae late ! sae late ! why comes he not ? 

He stays, I ken it wcel, 
Wi'in some shady woodland spot. 

The summer's breath to feel, 



84 MY BOOK. 

Or with wide open eyne to see, 

Wi'in the still o' noon, 
A single leaf frae some green tree 

Coom driftin', driftin' doon ; 
As if it were a letter sweet, 

All full o' meanings grand, 
Adrappin' slowly at his feet 

Frae some immortal land ; 
Or now he stands wi' dreamy look, 

Far up the mountain side, 
Or peerin' doon wi'in the brook 

To watch the sil'er tide. 
Ah ! Jamie, you 're a thriftless one, 

A listless, idle chiel, 
An' yet I love ye weel, my mon. 

An' yet I love ye weel ! " 



LEAVE iME. 85 



LEAVE ME. 

LEAVE me, thou heartless deceiver, 
' Lure me no more with thy wiles, 
Turn to some new-found believer 

Soon to be snared by thy smiles. 
Take back the tender devotion, 

Promising calms evermore, 
De'ep but as treacherous ocean, 
Wrecking my soul on its shore. 

Teach me where Lethe is rolling ; 

There, with my lasting regret, 
Under its waters consoling, 

Oh, let me die and forget ! 
Dost thou not fear retrospection, 

In the long years yet to be, 
Sorrowful-voiced recollection, 

Whisp'ring forever of me ? 

Proudly thy cold lip is curling. 

Masking with baseness thy scorn. 
Why should the shadows unfurling 

Cloud for one moment thy morn ? 
Smile on — there 's one that remembers 

Over the smouldering past, 
Justice stands fanning the embers. 

God be thy judge at the last ! 



86 MY BOOK. 



AFTER THE PLAY. 

HAPPY, you call me, gay and light, 
Happy, because my laugh rings clear ; 
But after the curtain falls at night, 
After the music, after the light. 

When my painted, roses are washed from sight, 
Lo ! on the cheek's despairing white, 
Burnetii the brine of a bitter tear. 

With thought for prompter I sit alone. 

And then the play begins aright, 

Laughter and mirth are put to flight ; 
And, sad to be to myself made known, 

With heaving bosom and hands clasped tight 
I hug the grief that is all my own — 

After the curtain falls at night. 

Tinsel, mockery, falsehood's prey — 

That 's what I am at the curtain's rise, 
All that is truthful put away, 

Art is all that public prize ; 

Time for laughter but not for sighs — 
Put them by till after the play, 

And after the music dies. 



MOTES IN THE SUNSHINE. 87 



MOTES IN THE SUNSHINE. 



COME out in the sunshine, darhng, for the 
clouds have blown aside, 
And left a canopy overhead, of blue, that is clear 

and wide. 
I 've been at the open window one-half of the 

live-long day. 
With an open book before me, and eyes that were 

over the way. 
Come out in the sunshine, darling, and pass by 

the window — do. 
My flowers are dying to see you, and so is their 

mistress, too ! 
Whenever our foolish quarrel comes into my fool- 
ish head, 
I weep for the willful nothings out of my anger 

bred. 
I'm jealous, dear, and I grant it ; but you are an 

arrant flirt, 
And whenever you smile on others I feel so vexed 

and hurt. 



88 MY BOOK. 

And she — why, she wasn't pretty; her face — I 

but saw in it 
What I 've seen in a dozen like her that could n't 

talk a bit. 
A meaningless smirk and simper, a hat on her 

nose's tip, 
Only a painted picture, with Paris rouge on her 

lip. 
Give me a natural woman, as well as a natural 

man. 
But one that is constant — show me this miracle if 

you can. 
I must shut the window down, love, for splash on 

the paper here 
Has fallen a great big rain-drop, the size of a 

great big tear. 
I long, how I long to see you, and, just with a 

kindly word. 
Bridge over the gulf between us, and own, per- 
haps, I have erred. 
I wish that the rain was over, I wish that my life 

was, too, 
And — well, if it was, I wonder would it matter 

much to you .'' 



MARSH MURMURS. 89 



MARSH MURMURS. 

THE jelly-making days have come, 
The stickiest of the year, 
When I 'm "obleeged to stop to hum " 

And daily duties share, 
And times are anything but " rum," 
Though "bottling time" is here. 

O'er pans of unpicked fruit I pore 
Till every limb grows numb. 

And paw the festive berry o'er 
'Twixt finger and 'twixt thumb, 

Until I think I quite abhor 
The gooseberry and plum. 

When in some melting, rapturous mood 

I court the gentle muse. 
And feel my very soul imbued 

With soft poetic dews, 
I 'm asked to read Red Riding-hood 

And tie the baby's shoes. 



90 MY BOOK. 

Anon my spirit drains the draft 

Of misery to the dregs, 
When I forego the poet's craft 

To "garter up her legs," 
And after that am ordered aft 

To count the chicken's eggs! 

Alas ! how unromantic are 

These days with churnings fraught, 
That come my vine-clad themes to mar 

And genius set at naught, 
Since butter making 's but-a bar 

To hitrher range of thought. 



THE DEAD CITY. 9I 



THE DEAD CITY. 

^^ Ashes, ashes ; nothing but ashes." 

THOU dear, dead city of my hope and love, 
The fever of the fire laid thee low, 
And snows shall fall thy ashen face above, 

And Winter, with her numb, white fingers sew 
Thy shroud in shuddering silence, sad and slow, 
Yet, city of my love, I cannot go ! 

I fain would linger, tho' thou art not here; 

As mourners count the sorrow and the gloom 
Of e'en the place that held the sacred bier. 

So linger I about thy mountain tomb, 
And still the sun rides up the empty day. 

All nature smiles the same and thou away ! 

Thou liest low, oh, city of my choice. 
And yet methinks I hear thy spirit sigh, 

Thro' each deserted street, in prophet voice, 
" My death was but a crucible to try. 

The metal of the hearts that purer rise, 

The brave, true hearts, that suffering purifies. 



92 MY BOOK. 

" Ye are not homeless, ye that wander here, 
Altho' the latch-string and the hearth be gone. 

For in God's soil an acre for a tear. 

Shall be recorded on some brighter dawn ; 

The hills eternal hold thy future lands. 

And homes are waiting there, ' not built by 
hands.' " 



THE BLIGHT IS AT THE CORE. 93 



THE BLIGHT IS AT THE CORE. 

LET my kisses fall upon thcc, 
' And my tears, as did the dew; 
Heard we not his vows together, 
Faded rose-queen, I and you ? 
Withered now thy leaflet's splendor, 
All thy fresh, sweet fragrance o'er ; 
Still the rose my cheek is dyeing, 
But the blight is at the core. 

Dost remember how the crimson 

Of thy leaflet's midst my hair 
Trembled with a sweet emotion 

On the night he called me fair? 
How the moonlight thro' the casement 

Shone our fond embraces o'er ? 
Still the rose my cheek is dyeing, 

But the blight is at the core. 

Rose, dear rose, if I were lying 

Faded, cold, and like thee, dead. 
Those false eyes that looked so tender 

Not one pitying tear would shed. 



94 MY BOOK. 

Love ! it was not love he gave me, 
Shallow passion, nothing more ; 

Still the rose my cheek is dyeing, 
But the blight is at the core. 

When the moon the world is bathing 

In a flood of silvery light, 
Sad at heart, alone, forgotten, 

Gaze I out upon the night. 
Flowering hope's brief season over. 

Reign too brief, forever o'er ; 
Still the rose my cheek is dyeing, 

But the blight is at the core. 

Busy life is all about me. 

But the hunger at my heart, 
Unappeased, and yet incessant. 

Pierces like some cruel dart. 
Smiles around the lip may hover. 

Yet the soul be bruised and sore; 
Still the rose my cheek is dyeing, 

But the blight is at the core. 



WINTER-WEARY. 95 



WINTER-WEARY. 



I GAZE adown the chill white street 
With shivering dread appalling, 
And sigh that Seventy-seven I greet 
Where Northern snows are falling, 
While panoramic fancy sweet 
Is fairer scenes recalling. 

With hands outstretched before the grate, 
To thaw those frozen members, 

I very gravely contemplate 
The few fast fading embers, 

And long to sail away, elate, 
To lands without Decembers. 

O, bear me, bark of memory. 
And shorten space between us, 

" Land of the Southern Cross " to thee — 
Thou lov'liest that hath seen us ; 

Rise, radiant Rio ! from the sea. 
More fair than fabled Venus. 



96 MY BOOK. 

O, mist along the shore and bay, 

Thy kissing face uplifting, 
Give me to see the palm tree's sway 

Where sun and shade are shifting ; 
Where murmurous waves away, away, 

To distant deeps are drifting ; 

Where Corcovada 'gainst the sky 

Her mossy neck is craning, 
And tall Tijirca towering high, 

All summer-robed is reigning ; 
Where day and dusk dissolve and die. 

And wondrous moons are waning ; 

Or where the lake a diamond gleams 

Set deep in golden flowers, 
A fairy haunt for poet-dreams 

In hush of summer hours ; 
Where Nature, flow'ret, wood and streams 

With tropic splendor dowers ; 

Where Padre, Madre, far at sea. 

Stand gazing at each other 
In might of mountain majesty, 

A moss-clad Father — Mother ; 
While lone Azuca to the lea 

Stands sentinel and brother ; 



WINTER-WEARY. 97 

Where skies bend low to palm and date, 

Caressing airs to fashion ; 
Where wild'ring hues on sunset wait, 

And brief love buds to passion ; 
Where first we met- — O past ! O fate ! 

O present ! cold and ashen. 

As some swift eagle in his flight 

Falls wounded near the aerie, 
I drop from dream-land's lofty height 

To common places dreary ; 
Where snows enshroud me day and night. 

And I am winter-weary. 
7 



98 MY BOOK. 



LOVE'S MIDNIGHT 

SO all ends thus 
'Twixt us two? 
Grieve me, 
Leave me 
Like a day grown 
Dark and sad. 
Hardly glad 
Enough for you. 

Blanched my cheeks, 
Their meaning only — 
That I'm lonely, 
Very sad and lorn. 
So the heart speaks, 
Each dumb tear 
Telling dear 
That I mourn. 

Like a dream 
Came you, 
Can I blame you 
If of love you tire? 



LOVE'S M I D N I G il 1". 99 

If I alone 

Now to-day, 

And for aye, 

Feel its quenchless fire? 

Have your eyes 
Weary grown 
Of my own 
All unmeaning ones? 
Can I blame you, 
Missing quite 
All their light- 
As the sun's? 

No, my tongue 
Can but frame 
Your dear name 
With a blessing — 
With a love trill. 
Mine, a loving — 
Past all proving 
Beyond guessing. 

Should earth cover 
Form and face, 
Leave no trace 
Of one who loved so, 



lOO MY BOOK. 

Ere the summer's over, 
Say 'tis well 
She doth dwell 
Past life's woe. 

But with twilight, 

From my prison 

Grave-arisen 

Shall I roam — 

Grieving for thee, 

Brooding o'er thee, 

Even from my spirit home. 



BEYOND THE BAY. loi 



BEYOND THE BAY. 

THE work-day face of the weary town, 
Kissed by the dying day — 
Now dimmer grown in the twilight's frown 

Fades as a mirage may ; 
Our ship to the open sea bears down 
Beyond the beckoning bay. 

The sentinel stars troop out — I stand, 

In a raptured revery, 
For tenderer far than human hand 

Is the wind's caress to me — 
My face to a fierce, fond blush is fann'd 

By the breath of the salt, sweet sea. 

O heaven above, and O depth below ! 

Between ye both once more 
My thoughts drift back to the " long ago" 

Like wrecks that drift ashore — 
For never again can come I know 

The dream that I dreamed of yore. 



I02 MY BOOK. 

If tears of women let fall for men 
Fell fast on thy breast, O sea ! 

The day of the deluge would come again 
And never a land there 'd be — 

And desolate, sorrowing souls drift then 
To the bay of eternity. 



AFTERWARD. 103 



AFTERWARD. 

T ^ /"HEN I left you, love, I was bitter, proud 
' • The day looked into my face, 

And hid its smile in a frowning cloud 
Till dimmed was its shining grace. 

Out of your sight my tears fell fast ; 

The shower is over though — 
An April grief, like your love, 'tis past, 

And who shall care or know? 

I've walked and talked with the hills to-day ; 

My love has been unkind — 
The solemn woods look grave and gray, 

And nod to the rustling wind. 

Only a word or a look unmeant, 

A look perchance of scorn. 
And out of this is the discontent 

And pain of the present born. 

How shall I win him back again ? 

Tell me, O flower ! O sun ! 
For since we parted, ah me ! since then, 

Life's hopes are all undone. 



I04 MY BOOK. 

O, soul ahungered that must be fed ; 

Soul of my life a part, 
Why will ye crave that human bread, 

The love of a human heart ? 

What was I but a toy to him ? 

An hour's change, no more, 
And what has he given me back again ? 

A sorrowful heart and sore. 



NO NAME. 105 



"NO NAM E." 

I WONDER if most lives, like mine, go wrong; 
I wonder if all loves, like mine, go by ; 
I wonder if in shadow, all along, 

My days must languish till the day I die ? 

Last night a firefly shot athwart the black, 

Re-crossed, and glittered out of sight once 
more ; 

Eyes of lost love ! like thee they turn not back 
But leave the darkness darker than before. 

Last night I watched the moon ride up the sky ; 

A smoky cloud, like incense, in her wake ; 
Like thee, O cloud, so must I deify 

All things beyond me for heart-hunger's sake. 

Sometimes, in dream or trance — scarce which I 
ken — 

Fair, fadeless faces, yet familiar ones, 
With pallid smiling, beckon me ; and then — ■ 

I touch a river's brink that darkly runs. 

A boat is crossing from the further shore, 
I watch the rower grim with bated breath, 

My heart's slow beat his dip of muffled oar — 
And some have known the voyager as Death. 



I06 MY BOOK. 



"CHICAGO;" OR, KILLED IN THE MINE. 

THE foreman's STORV. 

" T T E was only knovv'd as ' Chicago,' 

A A Among the boys out here, 
A rough, hard-fisted miner. 

But one that the boys called ' square ; ' " 
And Harry, the foreman, pausing, 

Shut down on a rising tear. 

" To work whar' thar' wa'n't no danger, 

Chicago hadn't no use, 
An' thar' wasn't a chap more willin' 

To load her or light a fuse, 
Nor a heartier cry on the hillside 

When he fired an' let her loose. 

" He were tall as a pine an* straighter. 

With a ringin' Western laugh. 
And a mouth that was always hidin" 

A smile or a word o' chaff; 
An' broader across the shoulders 

Than men of the camp by half. 



"CHICAGO." lo; 

'' And no one know'd how it happened, 

Or jest who fired that blast, 
Till the boulders stopped a flyin' 

And the powder cloud was past ; 
'Twas then we seen Chicago 

Were over the range at last. 

" He lay thar' white an' writhing, 

His blue eyes open wide, 
The boulder that had fetched him 

Imbedded in his side ; 
And afore we'd fairly reached him 

He jest gasped twice an' died. 

" An' the boys stood white an' trembling 

Afore the sickening sight, 
Then they gathered him up as gentle 

As a sleepin' babe at night. 
An' bore him on a shutter 

To the hospital on the height. 

" An' about an hour after 

Big Jim come down to the mill. 

And I seen that his hands was bloody- 
But something bloodier still 

He held in the one he reached me, 
That I were to keep until 



I08 MY BOOK. 

" They know'd what to do with the body, 
And the things Chicago owned — 

Not countin', of course, the money 
The poor chap owed an' loaned ; 

For when a man's done breathin' 
He can't be dunned or boned. 

" 'Twas only a crumpled paper, 

This thing Jim gave to me, 
With writin' on it, may be. 

But I didn't care to see ; 
It looked so red and dreadful 

I was glad to let it be. 

" I know'd Chicago were reckless, 
But a squar', right-minded chap, 

With an eastern wife who'd left him 
On 'count of some mishap ; 

Or 'cause her folks had riches 
An' set in luxury's lap. 

" But just afore that blastin' 
He'd taken a different streak; 

He'd bought some chairs for the cabin. 
And paid up his debts to a week ; 

An' hadn't been fightin' the tiger — 
Not anything, so to speak. 



"CHICAGO." 109 

" An' I hear'd the boys allowin' 

His wife was comin' back, 
All' that was why Chicago 

Had given the bar the sack ; 
But I reckon 'twas only rumor 

Or the boys was off the track ; 

" For the days an' the weeks together 

Went on in their usual way ; 
Chicago worked harder than ever, 

Was sadder — with less to say — 
Like a fellow disappointed, 

Whatever had been his lay. 

" The night o' that fatal blasting 

I couldn't sleep nor rest. 
The dead were thar' in my cabin, 

An uninvited guest ; 
An' I wondered about the paper 

They had found upon his breast. 

"In a few days after the fun'ral 

Thar' come, in a female hand, 
A letter sayin' : ' J/j' Jiusband 

Has claims there, I understand. 
Pray send me his personal papers 

Or titles to grants of land' 



no MY BOOK. 

" And never a sign o' sorrow, 
And never a word o' pain, 

For the lad death got the drop on, 
Did that cruel note contain ; 

For I read it over keerful, 
Then, foldin' it up again, 

" I took the crumpled paper 

That Jim brought down to the mill, 

And straight'nin' out the wrinkles, 
Almost against my will, 

I read thar' the name of the woman 
That claims Chicago still. 

" So I sent her that bloody letter — 
Thar' war' nothin' else to send, 

For the cottage upon the hill-side 
War' mortgaged without end ; 

And the lot Chicago owns now 
Was give to him by — a friend. 

"And I doubt if the heart unlovin', 
That promised but never came, 

Will meet that nobler spirit 

Gone out with the powder's flame — 

To prospect alone, forever. 
His undivided claim." 



WAVEWARD. Ill 



WAVEWARD. 



/'"XPEN your arms to me, sea, my lover, 
^-^ Take me again to your billowy breast. 
Laugh in my face, or with salt tears cover 
My love-set sun in the far lost West. 

I will go back to the land of spices 

Where the sun-god dips in a sea of gold, 

Where love for a love, love's only price is. 
And the blossoming days like leaves unfold. 

We will drift back o'er the sea together, 

I and my old-time friend regret. 
Where a still moon hangs in the stiller ether — 

Steer for the stars that never set. 

Where mountains touched by the sun's desire 
Reach ever up from their sea-swept base, 

Like a hungry soul that is reaching higher, 
With longing lips to the sky's soft face. 



112 MY BOOK. 

Where black-browed men in the market places 
Drink from the gourd as a chalice brim, 

And the naked babes of the dusky races 
Laugh in the freedom of life and limb. 

Anchor at last in the star-gemmed crescent 
Of some still bay on a balm-born night, 

Dream in an orient iridescent, 
Lotus-lulled to a dim delight. 

What if then o'er the present's level, 
Over the slumbering slope of the past, 

Eyes in whose light my own held revel, 
Seek me and find me out at last. 

Should I again of the fruit partaking. 
The dead sea apple of other years, 

Find that the dream had a bitter waking, 
Water the bliss with the brine of tears? 

What is it lures me, love or passion. 
Over the waste of the waters again. 

Out of life's remnant still to fashion, 
Perilous garment of pleasure or pain ? 



WAITING. II 



WAITING. 



THE down was on the thistle-top, 
The peach's cheek was red. 
And warm September, autumn clad, 

To gray October wed, 
When last with lingering looks we strayed 

Our favorite haunts among, 
While silence, offspring born of love. 
To speech unuttered clung. 

Ah, many a sober year since then. 

All solemn-eyed and dumb. 
Hath passed upon its changeless way, 

And cheerless others come. 
To touch with not ungentle hand 

My hair's abundant gold. 
And mind me in their voiceless way 

That I am growing old. 

Yet, tho' the shadows lengthening grow, 

As dim life's sunset gleams. 
And tho' I only see thee now. 

Within the heaven of dreams. 
My lips no vain complainings pour 

O'er barren life's estate. 
But with a saddened patience, love, 

I am content to " wait." 



114 MY BOOK. 



CALEB PLU M MER. 

FROM " THE CRICKET ON THE HEARTH." 

Part I. 

THE time was Christmas, and the earth, clad 
in its robes of snow, 
Looked on the poor with chilling eyes, unpitying 

want and woe. 
Within a poor and narrow room, but neat with 

toil and care, 
Old Caleb Plummer sat and worked one day in 

winter drear. 
Beside the tabic, strewn with toys his honest 

hands had made. 
The old man sat and tried to sing while still he 

plied his trade ; 
For times were hard, and he was poor, and worn 

with toilsome years, 
A sightless daughter claimed his love ; one — lost 

at sea — his tears ; 
Yet still, for Bertha's darling sake, he worked with 

patient heart. 
And strove to keep the piteous truth and Bertha 

far apart. 



CALEB PLUMMER. II5 

" We'll drown it in the bowl, my boys," he sings 

in trembling tone ; 
A slow but gentle step is heard, and he is not 

alone ; 
For Bertha stands behind his chair, and as she 

softly speaks, 
The old man turns with eyes of love, and tears 

upon his cheeks. 
" Dear father, I have dressed myself to welcome 

John and Dot, 
For this, you know, 's my natal day ; dear father, 

is it not ? 
How do I look?" once more she pleads, too 

meekly to be vain. 
And Caleb, with a tender pride, now turns to look 

again. 
" Why, darter, dear," he fondly says, with hands 

upraised to bless, 
" You seem to me an angel in a brown merino 

dress." 
"And is our little room quite nice?" she asks, in 

accents sweet, 
"O yes, O yes," the old man says, " it 's homely, 

child, but neat. 
Of course it isn't 'zactly, dear, as grand as some 

I 've seen ; 



Il6 MY BOOK. 

But then, it's sich a cheerful room, so tidy-Hke 

and clean. 
And there 's the paper on the wall ; sich hand- 
some paper, too ; 
You scarce can see it, darlin', for the picturs hides 

the view." 
" Yes, father, I remember now. Dear brother 

Edward's face 
Smiles on us from the oaken frame just o'er the 

mantel-place." 
" Yes, darter, yes ; and then there's me, asittin' 

here by you. 
The great, brass buttons shinin' on my handsome 

coat of blue." 
And Bertha murmurs, " Yes, of blue ; " then 

adds, through half a sigh, 
" The color I can just recall within the blessed, 

sky." 
"Yes, darlin', and I'm half afeard " — his voice 

more wavering grows — 
" 'Taint 'zactly jist the thing for me to have sich 

handsome clothes; 
For, darter, they are far too good — too good for 

me to wear." 
" O, father, nothing is too good for you who are 

so dear ! " 



CALEB PLUMMER. 11/ 

" But then, ye see, the little boys, they follow me 

about. 
And when they sees my handsome clothes, O, 

how they laugh and shout ; 
And there 's the beggars that I meet, with neither 

shoe nor hat. 
They looks for something handsome out of sich 

a coat as that ! 
You orter see me, Bertha dear, and then the way 

we live ! " 
" I see you, father, just as if I had the eyes you 

give. 
Yes, there you are, dear father, with your dark- 
brown, curly hair, 
And looking young and handsome yet, your brow 

unmarked by care. 
O, I can see your laughing face, and kindly, 

merry eyes ; 
Your figure rather stout, you know, but just a 

goodly size." 
" Yes, Bertha darlin*, rather stout." " O, not too 

fat," she adds ; 
" But, O, so active, young and light — ^just like 

some happy lad's ! " 
" Now, darter darlin', don't ye talk no more like 

that again. 



Il8 MY BOOK. 

For it you do I really b'lieve I shall be gettin' 

vain ! " 
" No, father, but you must not think your Bertha 

can forget ; 
It 's late, and there is work to do, while I am 

idling yet." 
And speaking thus the blind girl feels her way 

across the room, 
Then sitting down begins to ply deft fingers in 

the gloom. 
Now can it be the wind outside, or can it be a 

voice? 
Ah ! yes, 'tis Tackleton's ; but why should 

Bertha's heart rejoice? 
A blush o'erspreads her pallid cheek, and in her 

sightless eyes 
There shines love's hope and tender light, while 

in a fond surprise 
She asks — " Dear father, do you hear ? It is our 

master kind, 
But why does he his true heart hide a voice so 

rough behind? " 
" O, darlin', it 's a way he 's got," old Caleb quick 

replies ; 
"And all the time he 's talkin' so he 's winkin' of 

his eyes." 



CALEB PLUM MER. II9 

And now the cruel master's step upon the stair is 

heard, 
And poor, undreaming Bertha's heart is fluttering 

like a bird ; 
And Caleb sings, with choking voice, " We '11 

drown it in the bowl," 
While fear and hope are clasping hands together 

in his soul. 
In blusters brutal Tackleton, with visage hard 

and cold, 
Who, in a loud and angry voice, begins discourse 

to hold. 
" What ! singing are ye? singing, man — O, I will 

teach ye soon 
To sing another kind of song and to a dif 'rent 

tune ! 
I 'm glad you can afford to sing, while you are 

still in debt. 
But if the work 's not home in time you '11 not a 

penny get ! 
And here, you — Bertha — what 's her name — that 's 

mooning over there, 
I want to speak a word with you — well, woman ! 

do ye hear ? " 
" O, always light and gay with us, dear master," 

Bertha says, 



I20 MY BOOK. 

"* While Tackleton begins to stare in blind amazfed- 

ness. 
" The budding rose-tree that you sent — (I' ve 

kissed the buds, each one) — 
I placed upon the window-sill, that it might see 

the sun ; 
And tho' this morning, when I woke, I could not 

see its bloom, 
I heard its voice, dear heart, its voice — its song 

filled all tlie room ! 
For ah ! its odor is its voice, to those who may 

not sec." 
"Well, lunatic," the master says, "what's that 

to do with me ? " 
And then, as Bertha shrinks away, in timid, won- 
dering fear, 
He says : " Be ready, girl, to meet my bride 

that 's coming here. 
With John and Dot to tea to-night, and talk to 

her of me ; 
And tell her what a match I '11 make, and what a 

husband be ! " 
The glow, like sunset, fadeth from the snow of 

Bertha's cheek. 
While with a bursting heart she strives for fitting 

words to speak. 



CALEB PLUMMER. 121 

" Your bride," comes with a wailing sigh, through 

grieving Hps and white. 
" Yes, girl, I s'pose you 've heard of brides and 

weddings ere to-night ! " 
And then, with rude, uncourteous nod, and rough 

good day and brief, 
He leaves meek Caleb dumb with fear, and Bertha 

dumb with grief. 
Gone ! really gone ? and Caleb turns his doubtful 

face around, 
And murmurs, as departing steps outside more 

faintly sound. 
" O, have I been deceivin' her, through all the 

years that's past. 
And only just to go an' break her lovin' heart at 

last? 
I b'lieve that man was never born as others is I 

likes. 
But made in some ere hardware shop of rusty 

nails and spikes ! " 
And softly thus, the poor old man, in self-com- 
muning speaks. 
Till gathering tears, unchecked, begin to trickle 

down his cheeks. 
A pause — a long, unbroken pause — then Bertha's 

voice breaks thro'. 



122 MY BOOK, 

While sudden April in her eyes shuts out their 

patient blue. 
" O, father ! I am lonely in this sad, unchanging 

night ; 
I want my eyes, my willing eyes — O, give me back 

my sight ! " 
"I'm comin', comin', darter dear, what can your 

old eyes see? 
They're here beside you, darlin' one, where they 

shall always be." 
" Then look at sweet May Fielding first, and tell 

me is she fair? 
And younger, too, than I am now, and has she 

darker hair? " 
" Why, darter, yes — a handsome lass — a good one, 

too, is May ; 
And she has darker hair than yours — much darker, 

I should say. 
Yet no" — with eyes now fondly bent on Bertha's 

fair head down — 
" Your hair is golden, darter dear, and hers is 

golden-brown. 
But darter, such a form as hers I never saw 

afore, 
Ther ain't no dolls more gracefuler in Tackleton's 

hull store. 



CALEB PLUMMER. I23 

And then she 's got the sweetest smile, and, O, 

such lovely eyes." 
" Such eyes ! such eyes ! O, father dear, how 

could you ? " Bertha cries. 
One look upon her streaming cheeks, her heaving 

heart's unrest, 
Then with a sob he catches her, and folds her to 

his breast. 
" O, darter dear, what have I done ? Forgive me, 

darlin', do ! 
This poor old heart would break before it brought 

a pang to you." 
" Hush, father, let me kiss away the tears I caused 

to fall, 
For John and Dot will soon be here, and Tilly, 

too, and — all. 
Ah ! now I hear the sound of bells, I 'm sure they 

must be near. 
So smile that they may feel assured they're wel- 
come, father dear." 
Hark ! merry tones are heard outside, amidst the 

ring of bells, 
And Tilly and the baby's voice the happy chorus 

swells. 
Now honest John and merry Dot, both light of 

heart and purse, 



124 MY BOOK. 

And May, with Mrs. Fielding, comes, and Tilly 

Slowboy — nurse ! 
"Ah! Caleb, Bertha, are ye well?" John's cheery 

voice sings out, 
While Dot, just like a happy bird, goes chirruping 

about. 
" Now, Tilly, go and spread the cloth, for we have 

come to dine ; 
I 've brought the chicken and the cake, and John 

has brought some wine. 
So, Tilly, put the baby down, or give the boy 

to me. 
And, John, you stir the fire up, while Caleb steeps 

the tea." 
The humble feast is ready now, and chairs are 

drawn around, 
While Tilly, scorning etiquette, sits down upon 

the ground. 
A knock announces Tackleton, the miserly of 

heart. 
Who enters, holding in his hand a single sour 

tart. 
The proffered gift is quickly dropped upon an 

empty plate. 
And passed to Tilly, sitting on the floor beside 

the grate. 



CALEB PLUM ME R. 12$ 

Tis Dot who offers it, and says, with mischief in 

her eyes : 
" Here, Tilly, put that tart away, and keep it from 

the flies." 
'* O, yes, mum," Tilly answers back, with jaws 

extended wide. 
" The flies is werry troublesome ; I'll put it all 

inside ! " 
Down at a mouthful goes the tart, while laughter 

fills the room, 
The smile-lit faces and the wine dispelling all the 

gloom, 
And hearty John slaps Caleb's back, and asks him 

for a speech, 
While heads around the table nod their glad 

assenting each. 
"Then here's to him that sailed away, a many a 

year ago. 
To golden South Ameriky, my own dear boy, ye 

know ; 
A brave and handsome lad was he, and well he 

loved sweet May" — 
And Caleb on his thread-bare sleeve, now wipes 

a tear away — 
"But he has gone — my darlin' boy, this old heart's 

hope and pride. 



126 MY BOOK. 

So here is peace to him that's gone, and blessin's 

to the bride. 
Here's wishin' and a hopin', too, ye know, ye 

understand. 
That him she loves may never sail to some ere 

foreign land." 
Now warm and generous Dot speaks out, with 

brimming eyes and heart, 
While Bertha, with her own sad thoughts, sits 

from the rest apart, 
" Ah Caleb ! many a change of late, has come to 

me and you, 
I'm married" — "Yes," blunt John puts in, "and 

got a baby too" — 
" Why John ! you ought to be ashamed ; what 

can the man be at ? 
Here, take a leg of chicken, John, and stop your 

mouth with that." 
" Here Caleb, man, we want a song " — " Yes, yes," 

on every side — 
"A song" — it's John that's speaking now — "in 

honor of the bride." 
" Well, John, I '11 sing my fav'rite song ; you know 

it Bertha, dear, 
Yes, John, I '11 sing ye all the song my darter likes 

to hear." 



CALEB PLUMMER. 12/ 

And Caleb once again strikes up, "We'll drown 

it in the bowl," 
While only love and pleasure now, are guests 

within his soul. 
" We '11 drown it in the bowl, my boys," comes 

o'er and o'er again ; 
" We '11 drown it in the bowl, my boys," in one 

unceasing strain. 
"We '11 drown it in the bowl, my boys," till smiles 

begin to play 
About the mouth of honest John and Dot and 

gentle May. 
" We '11 drown it," he once more begins, in feeblest 

accents o'er, 
When John exclaims, " That's very nice, but ain't 

you got some more ? " 
" No, John, I think that's jest about as far as I 

ken go. 
You see, I 'd like to sing the rest, but then that 's 

all I know. 
There's Tilly got a splendid voice, suppose we 

hear from her ; 
Come, Tilly, sing us all about your bold young 

sail-i-yen" 
So Tilly sings " My lovyer was a sail-yer boy so 

bold," 



128 MY BOOK. 

Till she forgets that she is poor, and Caleb that 

he 's old. 
The song is o'er — " So fold the cloth," Dot says, 

" if all are done, 
And Tilly, run and get the cards, we '11 have a 

game for fun." 
While Caleb, Tilly, John and Dot go bustling in 

and out, 
Pray, what does Mrs. Fielding talk to gentle May 

about ? 
Her tone is querulous and sharp, and frowning is 

her brow. 
While Bertha, with averted face, is listening to 

her now. 
" Well, girl, you know I 've labor'd hard and toiled 

full many a year. 
To keep a shelter o'er your head and clothes for 

you to wear. 
That crisis most unfortunate your father that 

befell. 
His failure in the Indias, has ruined us as well. 
And now that he is dead and gone, we must 'mid 

strangers roam, 
Unless you marry Tackleton, and give us both a 

home." 
"O, mother, let your lips no more reproach my 

tardy will ; 



CALEB TLUMMER. 129 

Your wish shall my obedience claim, though lov- 
ing Edward still. 
So fare you well, my sailor-love — my Edward true 

and brave, 
My hand I give to Tackleton, my heart is in your 

grave." 
Ah ! Bertha's lips are parted now, in eager, glad 

surprise. 
While hope sings, like the fabled swan, its sweetest 

ere it dies. 
And as she whispers to herself, there 's triumph in 

her tone — 
" Why is it, since she loves him not, that life 

seems brighter grown?" 
All gaily 'round the table now the little party 

crowd. 
And play at cards and fortunes, too, with laughter 

clear and loud. 
Dear God be thanked, who lends the poor of joy 

at least a smile ; 
And so upon a merry scene the curtain drops a 

while. 
9 



130 MY BOOK. 



Part Second. 



A bitter night — no friendly stars to light it with 
their glow — 

Discovers Caleb on his way to Dot's house through 
the snow. 

And this is happy New Year's eve — ah ! who shall 
say for whom ? 

For fortune's favored ones it 's joy, for poverty it 's 
gloom. 

With tottering step, on Caleb plods, regardless of 
the storm, 

While boisterous winds with freezing breath be- 
numb his aged form. 

A light out-streaming o'er the snow his straining 
eyes now catch ; 

A few more steps — the house is reached, his hand 
is on the latch. 

But first a timid knock he gives, 'tis Dot that 
ope's the door ; 

Good Dot, the pride of honest John, the angel 
of the poor. 

" Why, Caleb, man, come in, come in ! Is any- 
thing amiss ? 

There must be, when you venture out on such a 
night as this ! " 



CALEB PLUM ME R. I3I 

" Yes, Dot, I'm very ill at ease, for darter Bertha's 

sake ; 
You see I 've been deceivin' her" — his voice be- 
gins to break, 
And lowly on his bosom now his head begins to 

droop ; 
While Tilly, with a face of fear, comes to com- 
plete the group. 
Her eyes are saucer-like with fright, and in her 

wild alarm 
She almost drops the baby from its nest upon her 

arm. 
" O, mum, I 'm nearly scared to death, and such a 

night, too — O ! 
Here comes the blind girl feelin' of her way, mum, 

through the snow ! " 
" My darter Bertha comin' here ? Then I must 

go away." 
" No, Caleb, best that you remain and hear what 

she will say." 
And then with kind, detaining words, that ne'er 

can soothing lack. 
And hands of only loving force Dot gently keeps 

him back. 
All eyes now seek the opening door till on its 

threshold stands 



132 • MY BOOK. 

Blind Bertha, with disheveled hair and out- 
stretched, groping hands 
To little Dot, adown whose cheeks a rain of pity 

steals — 
With sad, unseeing, moveless orbs, her darkened 

way she feels. 
" O, Dot, dear, I have come to you, you will not 

turn away — 
We 've had an angel in our house, I knew it yes- 
terday. 
A genius good, whose generous soul supplied our 

every need ; 
So rough in way and manner, yet so gentle, dear, 

in deed. 
And when this morn the village bells pealed for 

his union. Dot, 
To one — to one who docs not love, because she 

knows him not, 
I thought my very heart would break " — here 

Caleb needs must groan — 
" What 's that ! what 's that ! " she feels her way to 

where he sits alone. 
One touch upon his shoulder laid, what need, 

what need of eyes ! 
Then, with a. blind instinctiveness, " My father 

here? " she cries. 



CALEB PLUM MER. 133 

" Yes, darter, I've been listenin* to your secret all 

this while. 
Until I 've grown so sad I think I never more 

shall smile. 
I feel as though a lump of lead was lyin' on my 

breast ; 
And it will stay there, darlin', till the truth is all 

confessed. 
You see yo-ur path in life has not been very clear 

and good, 
And so I 've tried to soften it and smooth it all I 

could. 
I 've told you things that were not true, and, dar- 
lin', now and then, 
IVe changed the character and ways of women 

and of men. 
And, darlin', Tackleton is not the noble man you 

think " — 
Here Bertha from her father's touch surprised 

begins to shrink — 
" He 's set me tasks, a many one, to finish in a day, 
And work that I have always found much heavier 

than the pay. 
For, darter, he is hard and cold, a cruel master, 

too. 
And little of a friend he 's been to either me or 

you.'' 



134 MY BOOK. 

Away from out his sheltering arm, Hkc flowers 

beneath the sun, 
Poor Bertha droops in agony, and wails : " What 

have you done?" 
While sob on sob convulses now, with wildest 

grief, her frame, 
And Caleb's eyes are filling fast with drops of 

bitter shame. 
" O ! darlin', O ! how can I bear to see the hot 

tears fall 
From out your poor and blinded eyes, and know 

I Ve caused them all ! 
I '11 go away — far, far away, or anything you 

please, 
But do not let me see you weep, such tears — such 

tears as these." 
"No! no!" she murmurs, clinging now with fear 

to Caleb's arm, 
As if 'twere all the shelter left between herself 

and harm. 
And now to Dot she makes appeal, while grief 

her tears renew : 
" O, you will not deceive me. Dot, but tell me — 

tell me true. 
Look yonder, where my father sits, and tell me 

what you see, 



CALEB PLUMMER. 135 

And tell me what the home is like he toils to 

keep for me ! " 
" Well, Bertha, dear, across the room a poor old 

man, bowed low, 
Sits in a worn and ragged coat, with hair as white 

as snow." 
Here Caleb, with an eagerness half ludicrous to 

note, 
Exclaims: "Oh, don't take everything, jest 

leave my handsome coat ! " 
" Hush, Caleb, man," Dot answers back, with 

would-be look severe, 
" I am determined Bertha now the honest truth 

shall hear." 
And then, despite his pleading look, continuing 

again, 
She says: "Your wretched home can scarce 

keep out the wind and rain. 
And there beside the fireless hearth — no light to 

warm or cheer — 
In cold and want your father works by day, from 

year to year. 
Deep lines, deep lines of care have plowed their 

furrows on his cheek- — 
And yet he bears with toil and wrong, with spirit 

ever meek. 



136 MY BOOK. 

O ! hard and desolate his hfe — yet for his sightless 

child 
With love's dear care description touched each 

object till it smiled ! " 
As summer sunshine through the clouds comes 

peeping after rain, 

So sorrow-stricken Bertha's face grows flushed and 

bright again. 
On mute and wondering Caleb now her kisses 

fond are poured, 
And then she cries, *' I see ! I see ! It is my 

sight restored ! 
To think I 've lived so many years and never knew 

you yet — 
I owe so much that gratitude can never pay the 

debt. 
And O, to think I might have died, and never, 

never known 
I had a father fit to be a king upon his throne ! " 
" Then do you love me, darter dear, forgiving all 

I 've done? 
And — " here his question 's kissed away before 

it 's half begun. 
" O, father, let caresses speak all that my lips 

would say ; 
I 've now an idol for my love that naught can take 

away." 



CALEB PLUM MER. 137 

Hark ! hark ! for rumbling wheels are heard out- 
side upon the road, 
And joyous tones in noisy glee some new surprise 

forebode. 
Wide opens now the clanging door to let the 

party through ; 
The first, a handsome, manly youth, and clad in 

navy blue. 
Old Caleb's eyes are on him fixed, till with a 

shriek of joy. 
He totters forward, crying out : " It is, it is my 

boy! 
My Ed'ard brave who went away to plow the 

raging main. 
To golden South Ameriky — my boy come home 

again ! " 
And Bertha now is folded to her brother Edward's 

breast, 
While kisses on her blinded eyes and wan, white 

cheeks are pressed. 
And John, and Dot, and Tackleton, and with her 

mother, May, 
Look on in glad astonishment, without a word to 

say. 
Yes, e'en the master's heart of stone begins to 

warm and melt, 



138 MY BOOK. 

And only tenderest sympathy on every side is felt. 
"No longer now," brave Edward says, "dear 

father, shall you toil ; 
And now no longer labor rough my sister's hands 

shall soil. 
For many a shining coin I Ve brought from out 

the golden South — 
And we shall have a happy home and food for 

every mouth. 
And gentle May shall be my wife and cheer me 

with the smiles 
I 've dreamed of in my lonely watch through long, 

dividing miles. 
So call our friends and neighbors in and let us 

dance and sing. 
For I would have my welcome home good cheer 

and pleasure bring." 
As joyful Tilly hastes to break the news to every 

one, 
What is it Caleb has to say to gloomy Tackleton ? 
With eyes upon his Edward bent as on some 

wondrous prize, 
He turns to where the master stands and says, 

with beaming eyes : 
"Jest look at him, my blessed boy" — in tones 

whose pride increase — 



CALEB PLUM ME R. 1 39 

" O ! what a hornament he 'd make for some one's 

mantel-piece ! " 
Then, glancing up in mild mistrust upon those 

features rough, 
He says, "He'd never do for yours, he isn't 

humly nuff ! " 
And now the honest country folk, with Tilly at 

their head. 
Flock in, the merry dance to join, by May and 

Edward led. 
Old Tackleton deserted stands, no partner can he 

p'et ■ 
One couple more, upon the left, would just com- 
plete the set. 
But hark ! a penny-trumpet voice ('tis Tilly's — 

saucy elf ! ) 
Says, " If he can't get no one else I '11 dance with 

him myself! " 
" Then here," he mutters — touch'd again with 

disappointed ire — 
" Just take this wedding bauble, first, and tTirow 

it in the fire ! " 
" O, yes, I'll take it," Tilly says, then adds, with 

wicked glee : 
" But p'raps I 'd better keep it, sir, it might come 

in for me ! " 



I40 MY BOOK, 

She slips the golden circlet on, and then by fun 

possessed, 
She swings bewildered Tackleton quite out of 

breath and rest. 
And Caleb, now, clasps Bertha's waist and whirls 

her in the dance, 
While clumsy John grows light of foot beneath 

Dot's loving glance. 
And thus the hours glide swiftly by, beguiled 

with dance and song. 
While Sorrow dies at birth of Joy, forgetful of 

each wrong. 
All reunited once again, contented, happy, all. 
And so upon the final scene I let the curtain fall. 



Last Words. 

If, by some blazing, winter's hearth, bright eyes 

this story trace. 
If looks of kindly interest be mirrored on some 

face, 
If sorrow for blind Bertha cause one pitying tear 

to start, 
Or meek, unmurmuring Caleb's life should touch 

one gentle heart ; 



CALEB PLUM MER. 14! 

If this, my simple rhyming, bring the poor a 

single friend, 
O, then, my task, a grateful one, is not without 

its end. 
Let those whose hearts are lighter than the gold 

within their purse, 
Good John and Dot's example kind among their 

poor rehearse. 
O, cast away the proverb stale, both sides of 

Ocean's foam, 
That charity, like hoarded wealth, " begins with 

us at home." 
Give to the poor — let others' woes some thought 

from self beguile. 
For when we soothe the stricken heart we see the 

angels smile ! 



